


Sitting Target

by Hilarita



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Gen, graphic description of facial injury, hospitals (though no gruesome procedures), mild depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-26
Updated: 2005-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hilarita/pseuds/Hilarita
Summary: Written for the wizard-trauma ficathon, many years ago.





	Sitting Target

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the wizard-trauma ficathon, many years ago.

Title: Sitting Target  
Author: Hilarita  
Topic: facial disfigurement.  
Rating: PG-PG-13 for language and violence  
Written for challenge 67: one person has facial disfigurement. How does he cope?  
Character: Alastor Moody  
Words: 6,700  
**Warnings:** graphic description of facial injury, mild depression, anger, hospitals (though no gruesome procedures)  
Notes: Sorry it’s late. Thanks to Flora for not getting bothered. Evil computers and a story that wouldn’t stop growing can be blamed for that. Currently unbeta’d, just to get it posted some time before the second wave ends!

  
The team of Aurors approached the clearing. As ordered, ‘Mad’ Moody and his partner, ‘Legs’ Longbottom, circled round towards the other side of the clearing. It felt unusually tense. Moody gestured to Frank to keep still. He listened carefully. He couldn’t hear anything, and that seemed wrong. They were meant to be arresting some kind of smuggling ring, so they should be able to hear something - voices, money being exchanged, containers being moved - unless their informant had given them duff information. Moody turned to Legs, and pointed at his feet, casting a Muffling charm. They crept up to the bushes at the edge of the clearing, still with nothing to be heard. Moody stepped round a tree into the clearing and came face to face with a wizard pointing a wand at his head.

‘It’s a trap,’ he bellowed. The clearing erupted with flashes of light as spells flew everywhere. There were screams, as Moody brought his wand round in the tricky flick necessary to cast a Shield charm. It was too late. The time he’d taken to shout a warning had allowed his opponent a chance, and a bolt of red light hit him in the face, even as he ducked. He fell to the ground screaming, and then passed out.

He came round in a very lumpy bed in a place with a white ceiling. Something was very wrong. His face was mostly covered in bandages, and he could only see out of one eye. He could feel a dull burning in his face still, which was unusual. Pain-killing potions were pretty good.

‘Where the hell am I?’ He heard rustling round the bed.

‘You’re in St Mungo’s, dear. Try and lie quiet.’ The voice had the patronising lilt he’d heard a couple of times before, mostly when visiting colleagues in St Mungo’s after raids that had gone wrong.

‘What the hell happened?’

‘Now, now, there’s no need to use language like that. You had a bit of spell damage. The healer will be round later, and will tell you all about it.’ The voice was a little sharper this time, though it was just as bloody irritating. A blurry face topped with blond hair hovered briefly in his vision, as his bedclothes were rearranged. She continued, ‘Your mouth’s probably feeling a bit dry, but it’s nil by mouth for you until the healer’s seen you.’ She wandered off, heels clicking on the floor.

Moody lay there. His open eye seemed to be a bit fuzzy, but it seemed to be clearing. Every now and then someone came round and dropped a potion into it. It stung like buggery for a minute or so, but after a little while there seemed to be some improvement. They weren’t mentioning anything about what was really wrong with him, and they weren’t touching the bandaged eye. A little fear began gnawing inside him. Was there something really wrong with it? It was burning still. Perhaps there was some horrible gaping wound under there, and it might not heal properly. The burning was getting worse as the pain potion wore off. He tried to sit up, but he was clearly under a selective bind, to keep his head still.

The next time someone came round to drop his eye, he needed the toilet. He mentioned this, as briefly as possible, as his mouth was really starting to hurt, and they didn’t even let the body bind up for him to do that; they told him to lie still and Banished everything away. It was neatly done, straight into a bedpan, though it felt very odd, as the pressure suddenly vanished and there was a brief feeling of almost void inside, before it all settled down. Apparently the healer was very busy on another case and would be round later.

He settled down to wait, counting his breaths to stop him thinking about his prospects, and to distract himself from the increasing pain. He heard the other people on the ward eating dinner - clinking cutlery accompanied by a faint smell of cabbage that made it past the smell of the bandages on his head. He had started to feel hungry, but the increasing pain put paid to that. Fortunately, it wasn't long after the end of dinner that the healer came round.

'Hello, Mr Moody. Sorry about the delay. I'm Healer Stenton.' It was a young man, with light brown hair, bending over him.

'About bloody time.' Moody knew he was being ungracious, but it bloody hurt.

'I'm going to give you a quick exam. It's not looking very good. The curse left an irritant behind, and we've had to give you a potion to encourage it out. That's why your face hurts so much. It doesn't go well with food or drink, so you'll have to wait for an hour after your last dose before you can have anything. If you can bear it, you shouldn't have any more pain potion before then, as it's not good to have too much of it on an empty stomach.'

'Are my eyes going to be all right?' Moody hardly recognised that desperate croak as his own voice.

'Short answer: no. We've had to remove your right eye - the irritant had eaten your cornea away. I need a good look at everything before I can say anything more. So I'll take your bandages off. It's going to hurt quite a lot.' The man bent to his task, and Moody could not restrain his moans as the dressings were lifted off. The body bind was released, and his head was turned from side to side, then a few diagnostic spells were cast.

'Well, the good news is that your optic nerve's OK, so some kind of magical prosthesis is an option. Bad news - you've lost a chunk of your nose, and there's going to be quite a lot of scarring, as we can't use the skin-growth potion on these wounds, they've been open too long. The rest of you is fine - you need twelve more hours of eyedrops, after which your left eye will be fine, and we can release the body bind. You can have the last dose of the anti-irritant potion now, and you can have something to drink in an hour or so.' He smiled, and stepped away from the bed.

'But what the hell happened?'

'You're allowed visitors tomorrow. One of them can tell you. All I know is that you took a couple of slashing curses to the head. Some very nasty Dark Magic there.' He left the ward. Moody lay there and stared at the ceiling, trying to process the information he'd been given, until a nurse came and forced a vile potion into his mouth. The good thing about it was that it took his mind off the pain - for a little while. Then, the action of the potion caused more pain, and he wanted to turn and twist to get away from it, but he couldn't. He gritted his teeth and sweated it out, all the while thinking. So he was currently blind in one eye, but at least he had some chance of sight. He could live with that. He was going to have to live with that. He'd never been vain about his looks, but losing a chunk of nose sounded rather as if he were going to go from acceptable-looking to downright ugly. Aurors were trained to deal with unpleasant situations, in case they were captured and tortured, so he applied the lessons learnt on the job. He wasn't especially interested in women; he didn't want to marry. He could pay for sex as well as the next man, and there were even some women who might find the scars interesting, and want to sleep with an Auror for the thrill of it. So it wasn't as if he had to keep company with his right hand for the rest of his life. His face wouldn't be to his advantage, but he could live with it. Also, he probably wasn't going to be in hospital long. He'd be back on the job in no time.

So he felt remarkably positive when the nurses came round, propped him up, and gave him a drink, a small cup of soup and a vial of pain potion. This contained a strong narcotic, so he fell asleep, only rousing occasionally when the nurses came round with the eyedrops.

The morning was not so good. They woke him up at six o’clock for breakfast and a change of bandages. At least the new ones were lighter, not so hot. He could hear rather better. He drifted gently on the fuzziness produced by the pain potion. At nine a.m. the ward cleaners came round, casting Scourgify at every available thing, including the patients. Shortly after that, a nurse came round and released him from his body bind. That felt a lot better. He scratched the itch that had been developing on his left elbow. Then he sat bolt upright, causing the nurse to dash over to him.

‘Where’s my wand?’ God, he must have been right out of it, to forget his wand.

‘It’s all right, Mr Moody. We know you Aurors like to know where your wands are. It’s right here, on the cabinet. I’m afraid that you shouldn’t use it much; it gets a bit messy if patients try to Summon and Banish things for themselves. But you’ll feel better for knowing it’s there.’ She smiled and left him.

He seethed a bit, but knew she was right. Still, he cast a quick charm over the jug of water standing by his bed, to make sure it wasn’t poisoned. He took a glassful. He hated hospitals – he’d been laid up a few times before in the course of duty. He felt a bit edgy. He wanted the bandages off. What if he looked like some kind of monster underneath them? He felt rather sick at the thought of looking at his face without an eye. People were going to look at him as if he was some kind of freak. He took himself through the arguments he had used the previous night, but they seemed hollow and insufficient now. He remembered going to the clearing, shouting out, but he hadn’t had a clear view of the wizard who attacked him. He felt an urge for revenge growing in him as the pain potion wore off and his face started burning again.

He’d succeeded in working himself into a thoroughly grim mood by the time Frank came round to see him. He was looking a bit pale, and had one arm in a sling.

‘Hello, Madman! Glad to see you again.’ Frank sat down in the chair beside the bed.

‘What the hell happened, Legs? The damned healers can’t tell me anything.’ Frank was quite happy to answer – injured Aurors had to be humoured, to stop them hexing everyone in a fit of pique – and most people have a natural curiosity about a series of events which lands them in hospital.

‘A grade O cock-up, that’s what happened. Our information was dud – the gang knew we were on to them, so they deliberately let this guy come and do his repenting criminal act. That’s the current theory anyway – a bit of questioning should sort it out. Do you remember what happened at the clearing?’

‘Right up to the point where I took a curse to the head, yes.’

‘Well, half of us heard your call in time. So we felled some trees round the edge of the clearing. They weren’t expecting that, and it gave us a brief advantage. Mobbsy put a ring of fire round the clearing and fortunately no-one thought to put it out for a long time. They seemed quite interested in killing us – in teaching the Ministry a lesson. There were duels going on all over the clearing. I bagged the bloke that got you – my knife curse went astray – hit an artery.’ Frank looked a bit green.

‘Messy. Can’t be helped sometimes.’ Frank was a bit too prone to the guilts sometimes.

‘Mm. Well, half our lot were on the floor already, but the gang weren’t combat-trained. Result: five dead, eight in custody, three got away, though none of them were in particularly good shape. Most of us were walking wounded. I activated the Portkey to get us out of there, but I made a hash of the landing. I managed to drop you on my broken arm when we arrived at St Mungo’s. That’s why I’ve still got the sling.’ He sat back in the chair.

‘I suppose the bosses are in a flap?’

‘Oh yes. Internal inquiries. Big feature in the Prophet – ‘Should Aurors Be Allowed To Use Such Deadly Curses?’ – followed by the usual page eight sob story about how ‘French Drugs Ruined My Baby’s Life’. You’d think the editors were blind and stupid, as well as all the readership. That got the management in a flap. But enough of that. How are you?’

For a moment, Moody didn’t want to answer. But Frank would find out sooner or later. So he said brusquely, ‘Lost my eye, part of my nose and I get an attractive network of scars. Should be able to get a false eye.’

Frank whistled. ‘Nasty. Still, they were having bloody kittens about you after I brought you in. Something about an unusual and particularly nasty Dark curse. It looks like you’ll get the Ministry Medal of Valour, Bronze.’

‘Pah. You’d have done the same.’

‘Probably, but you did it this time. You get the glory. When are they going to let you out?’

‘They’ve not said. Sounds like it’ll be soon. Be back on duty soon.’

‘You still want to?’ Frank looked mildly surprised.

‘I’ve been around a while, been injured a few times. I knew the risks when I took the job.’

‘Good. I’d feel odd with another partner.’ The nurses were sweeping down the ward with potion vials. ‘Look, Moody, I’d better go. You’ll be fine, and the whole mess at HQ should have calmed down you lucky bastard.’

Moody laughed, then looked surprised. ‘See you soon, Legs.’ Frank waved a hand, then hurried away, dodging a nurse bearing a nutritive potion for Moody.

He spent a very boring day, mostly confined to bed. They let him up to go to the toilet, which was an improvement. But they wouldn’t let him do anything about his stubble, which was starting to itch like crazy. He cadged a magazine off the witch in the bed next to him (Frank hadn’t brought him anything, and the hospital visitors wouldn’t be round till next week). All she had were copies of _Witch Weekly_ , so he had to endure pages of ‘What the Well-Dressed Witch is Wearing’, though it was still better than staring at the ward, and it did distract him from the itching. He couldn’t even expect a visit from family – they’d all emigrated to Australia after the war with Grindelwald. Most of the rest of his team would be fully occupied with the flap on at HQ. He felt very bored and a bit lonely. He hated to worry over what couldn’t be changed, but he didn’t have much to keep him distracted from pointless fretting a bout how he was going to look and how people were going to look at him. He tried his best, but in the middle of completing the prize crossword for the latest make-up set in his head (to make it last longer) thoughts of despair rose up. He recalled one of his former instructors, now retired, Augustus Harris. He’d had a wooden claw for a hand. Hair only grew on one side of his head – the other was covered with shiny scar tissue. The eye on that side was almost buried in a great mass of scar tissue, and the ear was misshapen. Moody knew that they’d all looked at him with a kind of horrified pity, even as he’d snapped out the training mantra, ‘Constant Vigilance!’ There was something a little annoying about the fact that he’d duly exercised constant vigilance, but was still in hospital. He had a horrible feeling that people would look at him like that too. He was going to get stared at – he looked so different, now. Still, there was no harm in people looking. He went on with the crossword, until the next stray thought came along to upset him.

Dinner was singularly revolting, though extensive tests assured Moody that it contained no poison. Lunch had been sandwiches, and even St Mungo’s couldn’t muck them up too badly. But dinner was unbelievably awful stew, and in the absence of poison, Moody assumed that someone had offended the house-elves very badly. Even Auror field rations tasted better, and they were commonly agreed to be slightly more appetising than cardboard.

After a tedious evening, he forced himself to go to sleep by going over in his head all the security holes in the room and in the arrangements, and then listing all possible escape routes in case of attack. His wand was in his arm-holster (he’d found it next to his wand). Soon he was sleeping. His dreams were not pleasant. Harris’ face kept looming up in his dreams, saying, ‘Patronise me, would you? Have a taste of your own medicine.’ He told his subconscious to stop being obvious, so instead he dreamt he was back at Hogwarts, sitting his NEWTs, getting teased by the pretty Gryffindor girls as the walls of the classroom closed in. It wasn’t fun, but at least it was familiar territory. Without the narcotic, he woke every time the nurses did their rounds, and every time dropped back into fitful sleep. He did some of the relaxation exercises he’d learnt in Auror training. It helped a bit, but he was still fretful, uncomfortable in body and mind. The 6 a.m. wake-up came as a bit of a relief.

The morning hours were taken up by an increasing curiosity about what he was going to look like now. His face wasn’t him – he just wanted to start getting used to the face that was going to be looking at him from the mirror. It reminded him a bit of the fairy tales his mother used to tell him – of the girl in a castle of one hundred rooms, ninety-nine of which she was allowed to look in. But there was another, locked, room, into which she was not allowed to go, and the curiosity ate her up inside. Moody had always understood curiosity; now he wanted to tear the bandages off and have a look, even though it was the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do. But you didn’t get to be an Auror if you couldn’t be patient, though his reserves were tapped deep before he was sent to the Healer.

He was allowed to walk along the corridor to the sunny examining room. He lay back on the couch as instructed as the healer took his bandages off. It felt very odd, knowing that the blindness in his right eye wasn’t caused by bandages, but by its total absence. It still felt very sore, and he said so.

‘Good. That means we should be able to get straight onto fitting a prosthesis, perhaps even sort it out today. Then we can let you go tomorrow, though you can’t go back to work for a little while longer. That’s up to the Auror medics, of course. But you’re going to have some pretty nasty scars.’

‘Can I have a mirror?’ The healer looked shrewdly at him, but passed him a hand mirror without comment. Moody brought it straight up in front of him without comment. His face was a mess. There was a deep hole where his eye used to be, with only the tiniest rags of eyelid remaining. There was a deep dent in the side of his nose, red and angry, as if an eagle had bitten a lump out of it, a long scar from forehead to cheek, which met the gash in his nose, then slid away round the side of his mouth. The wounds were just beginning to heal. It was an unpleasant sight, and Moody had to stop himself from throwing up from the shock.

‘It’s a bit untidy, but it’ll look better in a couple of months, when the redness and swelling have gone. It’s going to itch as it heals – please try not to scratch.’ Moody sat silently. It was better than Harris’ face, but he’d never pass unnoticed on the street again. He forced himself to pay attention to the healer.

‘Your optic nerve’s in great shape – we should fit a prosthesis as soon as possible, before it loses any function through lack of use. I’ve a catalogue here. There are basically two models. The first model approximates a real eye – it’s glass, charmed to look exactly like a real eyeball, comes in a variety of colours to match your own. Perfect vision, it’ll track naturally with your real eye, so it doesn’t look so disturbing. However, as you’ve lost most of your eyelid, it’s never going to look perfect on you. The other model tends to be popular with people in your kind of work. It in no way looks realistic – we think it’s got something to do with the high number of charms in it – you just can’t stop the magic showing through. However, it allows 360 degree vision, can let you see through clothes, thin doors, that sort of thing. Has a charm to allow high-resolution long distance viewing, with no compromise in close-up vision. You can charm it to automatically track movement in the periphery of your vision, or behind you. I understand that it can make you feel a bit queasy at first. But – it looks very odd. It’s bright blue, and almost floats in your eyesocket. If you choose this model, I highly recommend getting the remains of your eyelid removed, as it will chafe a little. I’d recommend it to you anyway, as it’ll look less disturbing. What do you think?’

For a moment he was tempted by the idea of looking normal. Then he remembered the face he’d seen in the mirror. Even with a realistic eye, it was never going to look normal. No, useful was the way to go. It would make his life easier.

‘I’ll take the second. What will you do about my eyelid?’

‘Well, if you’re sure you want it done, I can take care of it now with a quick Severing charm.’

‘I am. Very sure.’

‘OK. I’ll do that in a minute. I’ll pace an order for the eye; it’ll be here tomorrow morning. I’ll just do a quick scan for measurements.’ He did so, then added, ‘I’ll be round to the ward tomorrow to fit it, then you can go. If you find any irritation, or problems, come round and have a chat. I imagine that if you’ve got any er, psychological problems the Auror medics will deal with them. We don’t see much of that sort of thing here.’

No, thought Moody. You don’t. Wizards and witches are all perfectly normal. Anger and depression are only for killer, rejects. And you’ll praise Aurors, love what they do, admit their need to kill, even, but you’re not prepared to pick up the pieces.

He sat very still while the severing charm was performed, then stamped back to the ward. He found a note from Frank with a pre-paid owl reply on it, and a parcel of clothes.

_Dear Madman,  
Came round to visit you, but you were out. When will they let you out?  
Legs._

Moody sat down and at once began writing the reply.

_Dear Legs,  
Yes, I was getting a false eye sorted out. Bright blue glow-in-the-dark model. Every Auror should have one. It arrives tomorrow, and then they should let me out, though I’m still on sick-leave until Ambrose gives me the OK. Sorry to have missed you,  
Mad._

He sent it off to the hospital Owlery with one of the nurses. He looked round the ward. People were staring at him with undisguised curiosity, now the bandages were off. He probably wouldn’t go unnoticed or unremembered again. He could cope with the man in the bed opposite, who’d looked, blinked, and then gone back to reading his book. But he was finding it hard to cope with the man two beds down, who kept watching out of the corner of his eye. When he walked down the ward to go to the toilet, he kept as far away from Moody’s bed as possible.

‘I’m not contagious, you know,’ Moody said, as mildly as he could. The man jumped and scuttled away. Moody decided he was some kind of idiot. Let the fools stare. Magic can’t cure everything, and it wasn’t as if he was suddenly unable to do his job. But the incident was enough to make him sulk for the rest of the afternoon. The nurses just laughed and said it was good to see him like that – he’d been taking everything entirely too well for it to be normal. This only made him glower more, and bury himself more deeply in his borrowed copy of _Witch Weekly_.

He’d completed the quiz ‘Is your man a love cheat?’ by the time dinner came round. Unfortunately he could smell it now his bandages were off, and it made him even more reluctant to eat it. But he was hungry, so he forced it down, promising himself a good meal when he got home. He spent some more of the evening doing the ‘Angel or Vixen’ quiz, while visitors stared at him. Each time he noticed it, he stared right back, until they flushed and turned away. he felt a small surge of satisfaction at that, and then felt bad about it. He knew that it really meant that he wasn’t comfortable with his face yet. He genuinely used not to care how he looked; somehow he felt that that feeling was superficial, since he was so bothered now. Then he told himself that it was one hell of a change, and he should cut himself a bit of slack.

The night was too long and Moody spent most of it going through the Auror handbooks in his mind, as preparation for writing his report. While asleep, the flash of red light that had hit him kept appearing in his dreams. He wasn’t bothered by that; it had happened to him after he’d been injured before. But it did make him wake with his heart racing.

The morning wake-up call was a bit of a strain after such a disturbed night. he was allowed to use the ward bathroom and have a proper soak. He’d sustained one or two bruises as he’d hit the ground and it was nice to work the stiffness out in a hot bath. It didn’t come with fancy bubbles and oils, but it was enough. He washed his face very gingerly. It felt alien, that huge gaping hole where his eye used to be. The rest of his face just felt sore, like any other wound, though there was still something very unsettling about the huge dent in his nose. Still, it didn’t unnerve him as much as it had done yesterday, and he could almost cope with the sight in the mirror, though the mirror did let out a despairing sigh at him as he brushed his hair. He was _definitely_ going to charm the mirrors silent when he got home.

Frank had sent round a set of spare robes for him, so he got dressed and sat in the chair beside his bed, until he was summoned to see his healer at 10.30. The eye had arrived. It did look very odd, but he put it in. It slid quite easily into the eye socket, as there was no eyelid in the way, and he was told the charm to activate it and keep it in place.

‘You’ll note there’s a lovely safety feature – the spell can only be cancelled by your voice. It’s no good if just anyone can cancel it. To make it move, just move your eye muscles as you’d expect.’

The eye sprang into life and suddenly his field of vision widened. He covered his left eye – he could still see. He covered his right eye, and could see right through his hand. He swivelled the eye round and looked out of the back of his head. That was disconcerting, until he covered his left eye up again, but by god it would be useful. He almost laughed. It seemed a tiny part of him had feared that he’d never see perfectly again, but this was definitely an improvement. He looked in a mirror. It did look unusual, but it was much better to look at than the socket had been. That had given him a faintly squeamish feeling, whereas the eye was just unusual and intriguing. The healer gave him a list of cleaning and maintenance tasks, along with a booklet ‘You and Your Magi-Eye’. Then he was free to go up to the ward, to collect him belongings and leave. He took the Floo home.

He checked all his security devices. He had to cast a few cleaning spells, which left him feeling mildly tired out, so instead of going out shopping, he sent an owl to one of the shops he patronised, asking for a home delivery. He sent his other owl to Auror Headquarter to say he was out of hospital, fully expecting that this one would come back with a request for his report (and probably an order to see the medics, and an informal invite from his team to meet up for a drink). Then he went and silenced all the mirrors in the house. He was itching to be back at his job, but knew they wouldn’t let him for a while yet, so he sat down with a few back issues of _Defence Against the Dark Arts Quarterly_. He found it a bit too theoretical for his taste, but there was useful stuff in it occasionally, so he studied it thoroughly.

The owl from Auror HQ came back first, as predicted. He had a little while before he had to turn up for a medical. The evening of the medical, his team were going to be in the Drunken Owl and asked him to join them. There was a note from Frank, saying he’d be round tomorrow night. He’d write the report tomorrow.

The first owl came back just before lunchtime. They’d included a few pre-prepared meals that just needed heating, and he had one right away. He normally had two cooked meals a day, to keep his strength up, and in any case he was ravenous after the dreadful food at St Mungo’s.

In the afternoon he read and memorised the ‘You and Your Magi-Eye’ leaflet. It needed cleaning in salt solution once a week, and a daily Scourgify, but even if he was stranded somewhere on a case, maintenance shouldn’t be a problem. He needed to send the eye back once a year for charm maintenance, but he could get a second eye in a few months, so they weren’t both out for maintenance at the same time. He also spent a little while rotating his eye all round, until he got a bit less seasick and confused by it. Then he did a few of his stretching and reaction exercises, cutting the routine down from his normal thirty minutes to just ten, in view of his fatigue. It wasn’t a perfect performance, but it was quite acceptable, so he sat down to dinner feeling fairly pleased with himself.

The evening dragged a bit, so he read the latest issue of the _Daily Prophet_. It was full of junk as usual. There were some scaremongering articles containing rumours of an organisation promoting purebloods. Probably just some stupid reactionary dining club. He worked his way through the personal columns, in case there was something suspicious in there. He took an early night, and put his eye into ‘sleep’ mode. He had a sound night’s sleep.

The next morning he woke up feeling rather ill-tempered. His face was itching and he had a damned Auror’s report to write. He brewed up some strong coffee after breakfast, and sat down to the report. It was amazing – he barely noticed his new eye. He sorted out the appropriate forms and settled down with his favourite quill. The first part of the report was easy – an account of the events leading up to his injury. The second part was harder; he had to provide an evaluation of the night. From his point of view it was an unmitigated disaster – they’d been misled and he’d been injured. He had no idea how much damage they’d done to the gang and no idea what information (if any) they’d god from the prisoners. Still, that was up to management to sort out, though it wasn’t going to look pretty on the section report at the end of the year. He got through several cupfuls of coffee and many pieces of parchment as he tried to give a fair evaluation. He copied out his final version just before lunch and sent it off to HQ, along with a few muttered oaths.

In the afternoon he wandered into Diagon Alley to get some more parchment, and to buy himself a couple of books to occupy himself for the few more days of sick leave he expected to be given. He scanned the streets in his usual fashion, looking for anything suspicious. He found that many people wouldn’t meet his eyes. That wasn’t usual, but he noticed it on too many people for it to be suspicious. They couldn’t bear to look at him. Others stared with fascinated horror. He was glad to get to Flourish and Blotts where there weren’t so many people to stare at him. The assistants there dealt with him most professionally; he could forgive them a moment of startlement at his appearance, as he still got startled by his own appearance in the mirror. Fortunately, he’d managed to use shaving charms, so there wasn’t unsightly stubble as well.

He was really getting used to his new eye. He’d used it in Flourish and Blotts to watch the people in the queue behind him, and in Diagon Alley. He was tempted by the idea of an ice-cream, but didn’t like the security implications of sitting there unguarded, especially after his name had been mentioned in the papers. So he went home and treated himself to a piece of cake, then sat by the fire with the latest book on the history of Hogsmeade during the Middle Ages.

That evening Frank came round after dinner. He looked harried. They sat down with a bottle of firewhisky between them. Moody asked for an update.

‘We got your report – just as we thought – it’s not going to look great on the end-of-year report. Still, it’s not _all_ bad. We got a substantial portion of the gang; deliveries have been noticeably disrupted. We haven’t got any of the really important people, but they’re not all minnows. There probably isn’t a departmental leak; they just had a damned good strategist who’d noticed we were mopping up too many minnows and thought to make us overreach ourselves. Fortunately for us, they had no idea how well-trained Aurors are.’

They had more whisky and chatted about the latest departmental gossip. It was a good evening, up until the point when Frank said, ‘Like the new eye, Moody.’

Moody just exploded. ‘I’m sick of people notice the way I look. I thought you’d be better. All those fucking whispers today on Diagon Alley. Get out.’ He threw the whisky bottle in Frank’s general direction, saw it shattering into pieces on the hearth.

‘I don’t think you meant that, Alastor. I think you needed it, though. See you tomorrow.’ He disappeared through the Floo, leaving Moody stranded on the hearthrug with the horrible feeling he’d offended one of his best friends.

A few drops of liquid ran out of his eyes. ‘Bloody Floo powder,’ he muttered half-heartedly. Reaction hit him and he fell trembling on his knees on the hearthrug. He’d been a first-class arse. He cleared up the bottle with a flick of his wand and went to bed.

Sleep was far from coming to him. He’d fucked up. Frank had said a perfectly ordinary thing to him and he’d gone nuts. He’d have to apologise to him tomorrow. And it didn’t matter, really, if people stared at him. He’d just need a bit of time to get used to it. He needed to acclimatise himself to it, go out and do some destressing exercises afterwards. After all, he’d learnt hundreds of the things in Auror training. He used one of them to get to sleep.

The next morning was a bit fretful, waiting to go for his medical that afternoon, exacerbated by the utter drivel printed in the _Daily Prophet_. They had a new columnist who seemed to adore the gratuitously sensational. He ate lunch, scarcely tasting it, then got ready for the afternoon.

He Apparated to the edge of HQ, and walked in. He waved his wand past the scanners, which let him in – for once. They were the very latest development and were exceedingly temperamental, especially when there were visitors. It wasn’t that good at detecting staff either; nearly everyone had been locked out at some point or other. He could see a technician behind the desk – clearly they’d been having problems again.

He made his way through the maze of corridors to the medical centre. He was in plenty of time for his appointment, but still got a dirty look from the girl at the reception desk. He rolled his eye back in his head, which made her twist and look away. This was almost fun! He settled down to wait, and they called him through only twenty minutes after the scheduled time.

The exam was tedious, but that was entirely expected. They’d said he could come back after the weekend, on light duties, though he was going to be under ‘regular psychological review’, which meant he’d have to take a couple of hours every week satisfying them of his continued stability. He felt a lot better after shouting at Frank, if a bit guilty, though there was nothing to test his reaction in Auror HQ – most of them had seen Harris and his face looked positively mild in comparison.

He went out into nearby League Alley, walked past the legal firms to the shops at the other end of the street. He went into a shop, tempted by the merchandise in the window, and instantly saw something that captivated him. It was a mug that one of the shop assistants had running round the counter on little legs. He clearly had to get that for Frank as a peace-offering. He bought it, then headed off to the pub to meet his team.

He walked into the Drunken Owl. Frank saw him first, and called out to the rest, ‘Hey, here’s Mad-Eye Moody!’ He felt a tiny sting at the name, but really it did mean that everything was perfectly normal. Really, it was much better than poor old ‘Big-Ears Parkinson’. His eye really was mad.

In reply, he just called out, ‘Oy, catch this, Legs,’ and threw him the mug. Frank unwrapped it at once, and all the team watched it run round the table. Frank winked at him, and Moody knew his peace offering had been accepted.

They passed a perfectly ordinary evening, comparing new scars, complaining about the paperwork. Nothing had changed, except his nickname. His new face wasn’t so bad; he could live with it. He even forgot about it for a while, when Beaky was doing an impression of their boss under a Jelly-Legs jinx. He went home, singing dirty songs at full volume, causing his neighbours to complain, and fell asleep straight away. He was back.  



End file.
